


In Search Of Your Glory

by NothingxRemains



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aromantic, Aromantic Character, Aromantic Loki, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FrostIron - Freeform, Human Loki (Marvel), Iron Man 1, Light Angst, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Love at First Sight, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Iron Man 1, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, T for swearing, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 16:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NothingxRemains/pseuds/NothingxRemains
Summary: When Tony woke up that day, he hadn’t expected anything out of the ordinary to happen. And by the end of it, nothing out of the ordinary did happen. Not really, anyway.Except, well.He thinks it might have been something like love at first sight.





	In Search Of Your Glory

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm super excited about this one. I have the first two chapters and the very last chapter all written out, I just have to write the middle bits. It was originally supposed to be five chapters but since I ended up splitting the first chapter in half it's probably gonna be longer than that. Let me know what you guys think! : D

When Tony woke up that day, he hadn’t expected anything out of the ordinary to happen. And by the end of it, nothing out of the ordinary did happen. Not really, anyway.

Except, well.

He thinks it might have been something like love at first sight.

He’d just gotten out of a conference that Obie had pressured him into going to, his monthly mandatory meeting representing the-face-of-Stark-Industries Tony Stark, which was a tiny bit about his brilliantly efficient creations but mostly about the sales revenue they earned ‘serving their country.’ Which mostly just translated to endlessly, agonizingly  _boring_.

So he had his sunglasses on as his ever-present shield against the press, fine-tuning his latest missile schematics in his head as he walked out of the front doors, and he almost, _almost_ doesn’t notice the commotion to his left.

Almost.

There’s an overly loud shout of “Mr. Stark!” from somewhere in the front of the crowd and his eyeroll is almost completely reflexive, and for a brief second he thinks _oh boy here we go_ \--

That’s when he notices someone barreling through the sea of journalists beside him. He’s caught by surprise as that someone vaults over the red do-not-cross line with an unnatural grace, a blur of dark hair and long limbs, and he can’t quite jerk out of the way in time before they crash directly into him.

He has a split second to think _what the hell_ before his sunglasses fall off and everything seems to slow down for a second. The guy is younger, younger than Tony and his 27 years, with pale skin and flushed cheeks and long black hair whipping wildly about his shoulders.

These are all things that he doesn’t notice until he’s sitting alone in his lab later that night. No, he’s too busy taking in the spark of mischief dancing in deep green eyes that are still more focused on his pursuers than they are on Tony. But more than that, he is absolutely captivated by the the grin that stretches his lips. It’s wide and and shameless and lights up his face with an unholy glee, and Tony only has milliseconds to take it in before he’s rushing towards the ground with a guy who is clearly all elbows and knees tumbling on top of him.

“Fuck,” he hears, staring up at the sky in a daze. There’s shifting about over him that makes several things ache all at once, and then his vision is filled with wide green eyes and long silky tendrils brushing his face.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” The guy says. Tony just blinks at him. The guy keeps looking at him in concern for a second longer before recognition dawns on his face and he stares down at Tony in mounting horror.

“Oh fuck, you’re Tony Stark. Oh shit, please don’t have a concussion or something.” Green Eyes starts helping him sit up and he immediately groans at the pain that blooms in the back of his skull. The whole of his spine and one of his ankles throb in sympathy(concrete is cushy that way).

There’s shouting from off to the side, and Green Eyes glances towards it nervously, long-fingered hands drawing Tony to his feet insistently, one bracing his back and the other gripping his arm just a little too tightly. The shouting gets louder and the guy’s eyes keep darting between the increasing noise and Tony with increasing agitation and frequency as he ducks under the inventor’s arm and snakes an arm around his waist and hauls him to his feet. Tony barely catches his grunt of effort under his own groan of protest.

He’s barely steady on his feet when the guy starts swearing even more vehemently under his breath and suddenly they’re surrounded by guys dressed in SI security garb and shouting at them.

“Don’t move!”

“Unhand Mr. Stark immediately, you’re under arrest.”

The details line up and Tony laughs. Green Eyes stares at him like he’s starting to seriously consider that concussion thing, and if Tony’s being honest, he kind of is too.

“No no, you guys have got it all wrong,” he says, that maddening grin flashing in his mind’s eye again. “My buddy here, he’s just excited to see me,” Tony continues, leaning on the guy just a little more with his arm still draped over his shoulders. It’s a little awkward considering the guy is a couple inches taller than him, which is not fair because he knows the guy is at least four years younger than him, but he makes it work. Green Eyes (and his eyes do widen just a touch, like it hadn’t even occurred to him that Tony would help him out of the situation he’s gotten himself into) hunching his back and bending at the knees makes it work a little better, long tapered fingers clutching tightly enough to slot into the grooves between his ribs, even through his three-piece.

“Mr. Stark, this man was spotted attempting to steal a diamond lattice work necklace from the display case in the front lobby.”

Green Eyes snorts derisively. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says affrontedly, like he believes it, and Tony probably would believe him if he hadn’t seen that grin not two minutes ago.

The guard opens his mouth to argue but Tony waves a hand dismissively, cutting him off. “Look, obviously there’s been a misunderstanding here. Even if he did whatever it is you’re accusing him of, which is neither here nor there, it was property of Stark Industries, which means it belongs to me, and I don’t particularly care.”

The guy makes a noise of protest but Green Eyes cuts him off. “Stark Industries has top of the line security. The fact that it's even a possibility that someone could just waltz up and snatch it surrounded by cameras and guards clearly means you guys suck at your jobs.”

Tony glances at Green Eyes and there’s an exasperated look on his face but the mischievous gleam in his eyes is back and Tony has to fight not to grin, donning a thoughtful expression. “You know, that is a very good point. You’ll be hearing about this from...somebody, I don’t know, I’ll find out who your handler is later. Now, if you gentleman will excuse us, we have some catching up to do.”

The guards look stricken, and after a particularly tense moment, they reluctantly part. “Of course, Mr. Stark,” the same guy from before says.

Green Eyes rolls his eyes and adjusts his grip on Tony’s arm. “Come on, Tony, lets go get your head looked at,” he says, playing the role Tony gave him and leading him forward to the car waiting on the curb. They make it about three steps before he abruptly stops again, and Tony looks up in confusion. He finds the guard closest to the stranger glaring at him, and if he hadn't been looking at him from less than a foot away Tony would have missed the way his whole demeanor seems to shift. Gone is the gleeful troublemaker, leaving something looking feral and distinctively predatory in its place; the change is unnerving, and the guard must think so too because the glare melts away and his eyes dart about nervously(hell, it makes _Tony_ nervous and he’s not even the one it’s directed at), leaning just the slightest bit away from him. Green Eyes stares him down before he gives a _hmph_ , and then it's gone like it never happened and he’s being led towards the car again.

The guy opens the door for him and helps him slide onto the far side of the seat, slipping in behind him. “Alright, Happy, back to the mansion.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

The second the car door is closed Green Eyes moves away from Tony to sit on the seat across from him.  He lets out a little laugh, and Tony looks at him.

There it is again, that devious shit-eating grin lighting his face and mirth dancing in his eyes, carmine lips framing perfect white teeth and a lone dimple on his right cheek giving it an almost lop-sided effect. It sends a thrill through his blood and he can’t fight the impulse to grin back at him, but he manages to curb it down into a smirk.

“That was pretty ballsy back there,” Tony says, almost impressed.

“Why thank you, Mr. Stark,” the guy drawls, batting his eyelashes, and Tony laughs.

“Alright, wise guy. What’s your name?”

Something in his expression shifts. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says.

“Well, obviously, that’s why I asked,” he retorts, rolling his eyes. “Considering I just saved your ass, I think you at least owe me that much.”

“...I suppose,” he grudgingly admits. “I am Loki.”

“Loki,” he says, intrigued, rolling it on his tongue. “Loki, huh? Loki what?”

Loki’s expression darkens further, and it comes off to him as condescending. “Why, so you can look up information you have no business knowing, Mr. Stark?” he says cooly, closed off all of a sudden.

Which, obviously; he’s Tony Stark, everybody wants something from him, and they all have to be carefully vetted before getting anywhere near him so they don’t try and take it whether he likes it or not. But that’s besides the point.

“What’s your problem? You act like I killed your cat or something.”

Loki sneers at him. “You’re Tony Stark. When you’re not busy trying to die of alcohol poisoning and fucking everything that moves, you build things specifically designed to do nothing but kill people by the dozens, if not hundreds. I’m sure there are thousands of people that would be less than thrilled to be graced with your presence, Mr. Stark.”

Tony opens his mouth to argue, but the guy has a point. He builds weapons because he’s good at it, not because he particularly likes it. He does it because it's what his old man did and it’s what he’s expected to do (not that that ever had much bearing on his decision) and its fundamental part of the flourishing company that Obie runs for him.

Still. “Those weapons cut down on military casualties by 37.4%. I save lives with what I do.”

The feral look from before is starting to creep into his eyes again, and it’s more than a little terrifying. That has absolutely nothing to do with what Tony says next. Nope, not at all, not even a little bit. “But I see your point,” he concedes. “It’s not like I can just stop doing it; I own a weapons company, what else am I supposed to do?” he says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest.

It’s Loki’s turn to roll his eyes, but the coldness in them recedes. “You’re Tony Stark, You own the third biggest company in the world and you fall into the U.S. one percentile of the rich class. I’m pretty sure you can do anything you damn well please,” he snarks back, and it's almost bitter.

A couple of things fall into place in his head, but he keeps them to himself for now. He sighs dramatically and slumps into the leather seat, throwing his arms over the back of them casually. “It’s so difficult being me.”

Loki snorts out a laugh and immediately looks irritated about it, so Tony counts it as a win.

“You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?” he says, absently looking him over. He’s wearing a cheap off-the-rack black three piece, and what he thought at first glance was dress shoes is actually slim, faux leather boots; he can make out faint outlines of buckles through the thin materials of his slacks, which are almost definitely too short and a little baggy on his long, lean legs. It’s ill-fitting as much as anything not custom-tailored is, but even despite that he can make out Loki’s tapered waist and perfect posture that make him look dignified, a strong set to his shoulders that says he’s probably stronger than he looks. It makes him remember the tight grip cradling his wrist and fitting into the grooves of his ribs, and unconsciously his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Attractive and not painfully stupid; he can work with that. He’s not falling over himself to get in Tony’s good graces, which means he’s probably gonna have to work to get into Loki’s. It means a challenge, like anything seldom is for him, and he’s looking forward to it. But he’s still Tony Stark, he always get what he wants, sooner rather than later.

Loki catches him looking. “Nothing compared to you’re boundless intelligence, I’m sure,” He snarks, crossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest in a very clear message: _Not interested_.

“Alright alright I get it, you don’t like me, calm down.”

He lets out a quiet sigh. “Fine,” he says, as the car rolls to a stop. He looks out the window and sees Tony’s malibu mansion looming over them. He stares at it dubiously, and then directs it at Tony.

“Come on, just come inside for a little while, I’ll have Happy take you home later.”

Loki eyes him suspiciously, like a child detecting stranger-danger. Tony shakes his head, getting out of the car. “Come on, I don’t bite.” Loki watches him for another moment before sighing noisily and climbing out after him.


End file.
